


The Space Between a Breath

by coldfiredragon



Series: Shoulder to Shoulder [6]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: A Day In the Life timeline, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family Bonding, Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Near Death Experiences, Past Character Death, Shoulder to Shoulder side fic, magic fixes something for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 00:00:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13775382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldfiredragon/pseuds/coldfiredragon
Summary: When the toll of Eliot's early substance abuse becomes clear Quentin sends him to Chatwin's Torrent in the hope of saving him.





	The Space Between a Breath

**Author's Note:**

> This is the newest part of the timeline Quentin and Eliot spend in Fillory. It is 'Shoulder to Shoulder With You' compliant. There are some hints to the larger story in the smaller details. If you think I made a mistake it means I probably didn't ;-) 
> 
> Be sure to have read 'Classics in Eight Colors' and 'A Day Lived' first. They might help flesh this out.

The coughing jags started when Rupert was about seven, and Eliot initially chalked them up to the cold, until the weather turned warmer again, and he lost the excuse, but not the cough. In his mind, and Quentin's, it was apparent what had started to happen. The years of smoking he'd put his body through in his early twenties had finally begun to take their toll. Shortly after Rupert turned eight, Eliot found himself in the middle of a fit so bad that there was blood flecked on his hand when he finally managed to stop. Black spots danced across his vision as he dropped in the center of their tiny kitchen to rest his back on the thin cabinets. He had sat there and wheezed until he'd caught his breath, and then he'd looked up to see Quentin's ashen face at the cabin door. 

Before he'd been able to get a word in Quentin was gone. He disappeared into the woods with the excuse that he was going to walk to the closest town. He hadn't come back by dinner, and their bed was still empty when Eliot dragged himself out of it the next morning. Eliot was acutely aware of what had to be going through the other man's head. Quentin had lost his father to brain cancer, and the blood was probably a pretty good indication that he'd developed lung cancer. 

Rupert was still asleep in his smaller bed on the opposite side of the cottage as Eliot walked outside. He found Quentin laying mosaic tiles in the early morning light, and there was a loaded backpack resting against the cottage wall. His quiver and bow waited with it. 

“Are we going to talk about this?” Eliot asked softly. 

“I'm not letting you do what my dad did,” Quentin told him in the way of response. “You have to fight this.” Quentin carefully fit another tile against two others, then looked up at him. His eyes were red-rimmed. “Please, El. I can't handle it if you give up too.” 

“What can I do?” Eliot snapped. Fillory was hundreds of years away from advanced medicine, and they didn't have a way back to Earth. Abandoning the quest, their life, would mean giving up the key. 

“Go to the torrent. It worked for Penny when Martin cut off his hands.” 

“I doubt we have enough gold to pay the river watcher,” Eliot whispered. Quentin nodded towards the travel pack he'd put together.

“I spent most of the evening playing cards with at the tavern.” A smirk wavered on Quentin's face for a moment. “I don't think they had ever met someone capable of counting cards before.” Eliot laughed, which was a mistake. Once he'd caught his breath, he knelt in the sand behind Quentin and rested his forehead between Quentin's shoulder blades. 

“I'm sorry I snapped at you, Love.” He whispered before leaning in so he could press a kiss to Quentin's back. He breathed in Quentin's scent as they continued to kneel in the sand. “I'll hopefully be back in a few days.” 

“Just come back healthy. I don't care how long it takes.” Quentin spread his fingers against the stone tiles in front of him, and Eliot wrapped his arm around his waist. 

“Should I say goodbye to Ru?” 

“No. I don't want you to scare him. He's already noticed you are sick.” Quentin moved and turned to face him. He rested his forehead against Eliot's chest. His knees fit between Eliot's spread ones and Eliot wrapped both arms around him. 

“I love you. I'm sorry I put us here. I spent so many years destroying myself because I never thought I'd have someone who would love me enough to make living worthwhile.”

“I love you too.” Quentin's hands came up to grip his face. The kiss was urgent. “It's going to be okay.” His hands trailed down Eliot's neck and chest, then wrapped around his back They clung to one another until Eliot forced himself to let go and stand. He slipped his arms into the straps of the bag, then took up his bow and headed into the forest. It didn't take him long to find a flowering plant with petals he could harvest to use in a locator spell. As the day stretched the toll that he had placed on his body felt more and more pronounced. The flat plains and hard packed dirt roads turned to hills, then to the thicker trees of the Wormwood, followed by the rocky hillside that would eventually become the Nameless Mountains. He found the river around nightfall and camped on its banks. 

Getting up in the morning was more exhausting than he'd expected. He had gotten accustomed to Quentin's arms around him, and the warmth of their cottage. Sleeping under the stars in the cool of the night hadn't done him any favors either, and a day of walking had been harder than a day of lifting piles of mosaic tiles. He sat on the riverbank for almost an hour after he'd charmed his fire back to life, then finally dragged himself up to start moving again. He doused the fire, then followed the river. The dull roar of the falls reached his ears a full half an hour before he ever found them. Once he arrived at them, he dropped the pack off his shoulders as he stared across the rocks and water. 

“Strip and step in, and the torrent will do its work.” Eliot glanced down the rough stretch of beach to stare at a man in knee-high wader boots who stood in the shallow water along the shore. The voice wasn't the glib opportunistic one he had expected from Penny and Alice's account of the man. It was entirely possible that this was a different river watcher who had died and been replaced by the time he and his friends would come to Fillory. Eliot prayed Quentin had collected enough gold to pay whatever price the man asked. Eliot wouldn't be able to look Quentin in the eye if this didn't work. He wouldn't be able to make Quentin watch as he struggled to breathe and fought a losing battle. 

“What's the pr--” The words had only half escaped before he had to bring his hand to his mouth. The Watcher stood in silence and studied him as Eliot took a shuddering breath and blinked away tears. 

“The price? Your Highness?” Eliot's head shot up, and his eyes narrowed. No one had made the connection in over ten years. 

“I don't know what you are talking about.” 

“Not now perhaps, but you were, are, in the future.” 

“How do you know that?” 

“Time, like a river, is not a straight line. It can curve and run parallel to itself, or it can branch and become its own river – as yours has done.” Eliot didn't want to think of the implications of time travel. All he wanted was to heal and go back to the mosaic and his family. He wanted to hold Rupert in his arms without it winding him. He wanted the chance to grow old with Quentin. 

“Will you tell anyone?” He asked. 

“Who would I tell?” Eliot closed his eyes. That wasn't the unequivocal no he had hoped to hear. He started to strip off his clothes and fold them. Once he stood naked, he glanced at the River Watcher again and waited until the man gestured towards the water before walking into the spray. Water swirled around his ankles, then his calves, and rapidly grew deeper. He knew it only took about two feet of moving water to knock a person off their feet, so he used the rocks to his advantage to block some of the current as it reached his waist. 

Fear bubbled in his belly as he thought of how quickly he could be swept down the river. The thought of never going home scared him more so he forced his knees to buckle so the water would run over his head. His knees rubbed against the smooth stones on the river bottom, and he pressed his hand against the rock to hold himself down when instinct tried to drive him upwards. 

It took about thirty seconds, then the tightness he'd felt in his chest seemed to let go all at once. When his head broke the surface of the water again, he was able to take a full breath without choking for the first time in what felt like years. The falls seemed louder, and the smell of the water and algae was richer. Eliot waded back to shore and knelt on the beach as his fingers dug into the wet sand. His hair hung in wet loose rings around his face. 

“How much?” He looked back at the man, who hadn't moved from the shallows since he'd arrived. 

“The River is for anyone in Fillory who needs it.” Water lapped around Eliot's legs and hands as he stared at the river watcher through locks of dripping hair. It couldn't be as simple as this. Nothing in his life had ever gone smoothly, though he did admit that Fillory had been an entirely different place before the Chatwins had arrived to fuck it up. He washed the sand off his hands and then stood to rinse his legs. His bag sat safely in the grass, and he walked to it, He dug through his clothes and supplies until he found the coin purse Quentin had packed near the bottom. About half of what Quentin had collected fit in his hand and he pulled the crescents free. 

“Take them.” 

“That is not necessary, Your Highness.” 

“Don't call me that,” Eliot insisted. He raked the hand that wasn't fisted around the gold through his wet hair. “If you won't take them for yourself, then take them and use them to buy supplies for anyone who needs the river. You never know when someone will show up with a severed thumb that needs to be sown back onto their hand. He didn't want to reference Penny directly, so he'd chosen something close. 

“You will be a great king.” The watcher told him as he walked forward to take the gold. 

“No. I'll be a good king.” Eliot wasn't ever going back to the Fillory of his time if he could help it. The quest would end for he and Quentin when they got the mosaic key. He would spend the rest of his life with the family he'd chosen for himself. Eliot dried himself with the shirt he'd started the morning wearing, then dressed in the clean change of clothes Quentin had packed. His bag felt lighter when he lifted it back onto his shoulders. “Take care of the river.” He called as combed his fingers through his hair again. The River Watcher inclined his head as an acknowledgment, and Eliot started to follow the river back towards home. 

The trip back to the mosaic grove seemed to take half the time it had before. He was going downhill for one, and he wasn't bone tired during the return trip the way he had been on his way there. He reached a village near the edge of the Wormwood around nightfall, and rented a room for the night, then was on his way towards home in the morning as soon as the edge of the sky started to lighten. By early afternoon he was back in the familiar woods surrounding their home. The leaves of one of the peach trees rustled as he got close to it, and Eliot noticed a basket sitting on the ground near its base, so he stopped. A moment later some of the branches bowed as Rupert dropped down from the tree. 

“Are you alright?” Eliot could see hope and fear warring in the boy's face, and it tore him to pieces. 

“Good as new.” He whispered. Their son launched himself up into his arms and Eliot held the boy tightly to himself as Rupert clung to him. “I'm sorry I scared you, Ru.” The boy sniffled as he buried his face. “Is your papa okay?” Eliot asked.

“He's stayed busy after you left, but he's sad. I can tell.” Eliot kissed the boy's temple. 

“Well we are going to cheer him up, okay?” Eliot dropped Rupert to his feet and knelt to whisper soft instructions against the child's ear. He stayed kneeling as Rupert took off in the direction of the cottage. Once he'd given the boy a couple of minutes head start, he circled through the woods towards the back side of the land they had claimed. Their garden was in full bloom as he walked along the edge of the cottage. Quentin was standing in the middle of the mosaic with his back to him as Rupert told him some exaggerated story he'd made up. Eliot crossed the space on silent feet. He rested one hand over Quentin's eyes and ducked his face to press a kiss to the top of Quentin's head. His other arm wrapped around Quentin's middle to pull the smaller man tight to his chest. 

“Eliot.” Quentin's eyes squeezed shut against his fingers, and Eliot felt moisture race down his palm.

“It worked, Love. Please, Q. Don't cry. I've got you.” Eliot blinked away tears of his own. “It's going to be okay.” He'd have to make Quentin take the same trip as soon as he showed a sign that something wasn't right. The two of them would have a long beautiful life together. Eliot lifted his head to find Rupert watching them, and he waved the boy in so he could hug Quentin as well. Quentin calmed as he stood sandwiched between them. 

“Rupert, will you go finish collecting the peaches, and give your dad and I about an hour of privacy?” Their son made a face as he stepped away from them, but he seemed happy to give them whatever they wanted as he turned and jogged into the woods. 

“I missed you,” Quentin told him. 

“I want you,” Eliot told him. It had been weeks since he'd felt strong enough to be adventurous, and all he wanted was Quentin on top of him as they lay tangled in bed together. 

“Well, we have an hour so we shouldn't waste it.” Quentin caught his wrist and Eliot obediently followed him into the cabin. He didn't complain as Quentin tugged off his tunic before giving him a push towards their bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are welcome. They are life! Did you cry? Did you not, but want to? Tell me in comments!


End file.
